Lent 4C St Patrick’s

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+In today’s Parable of the Prodigal Son we hear about the very Lenten themes of reconciliation and restoration, neither of which happen quickly or easily. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s talk for a bit about the story.
Now I don’t know about you, but whenever I hear this story I cast it with actors from my own life...assigning people the roles I feel they’ve earned through their behavior. In other words, just like the Pharisees, I judge people putting them in the role I’ve assigned them and then feel all righteous and holy about how bad they are....
But here’s the thing about parables: We’re every character. At one time or another we’ve been the dad, the older son and the younger. The older son gets our sympathy because he’s the one who did what was culturally appropriate and acceptable, staying home to work the family homestead. In Jesus’ day, sons helped their father and then when Dad died the sons were given equal shares of the property. Ideally they would keep the shares intact and work the land together, passing it on to their children. An agrarian culture is one of the most interdependent cultures known to humankind. “I need you and you need me, we are all in this together.” So when the son forever known as the prodigal gets a bit of wanderlust and asks for his share of the land now—well it was akin to saying, “Dad I can’t wait for you to die, gimme what I have coming.” Cashing in on the family homestead, dividing the land your family has farmed for GENERATIONS? It was disgraceful, wrong and hurtful. But just about the time in the story when we’re thoroughly disgusted with the prodigal, all his grand plans fall apart. He realizes he

 needs help, that he needs his family. The youngest son sitting amidst the pig slop of his life has an “aha” moment.
The prodigal, this son of so much ambition, this son who didn’t need anybody, is broken. The hubris is gone, leaving him with genuine humility. All that’s left is honesty, all that’s left is the promise, the hope, the longing that his father, among all the anger and bitterness the son assumes is waiting for him, will see fit to hire him as a common laborer. As he turns toward home he expects jeers, insults, taunts and anger. But instead he’s greeted with hugs, tears and shouts of thanksgiving. He’s seated at the head of the table and toasted as an honored guest. The father is grateful beyond all measure. But the older son, the good and loyal one so many of us relate to? He’s not so excited, he’s not so forgiving, he’s not so grateful. Who can blame him? After all he stayed and did the right thing, but now this nare-do well, this pain in the butt younger brother gets a feast, a ring and his father’s undying love? Yes.
Is it fair? No.
Is it comfortable? No.
Does it make sense? Well, viewed through the lens of our outrageously gracious God, YES.
You see reconciliation is the backbone of love.
We must be able and willing to reconcile our differences, to forgive our hurts and to move on if we’re to truly live a life of love. Love doesn’t mean never hurting each other, love means hurting one another and then making it right.
God does this all the time.
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God forgives us again and again and again because we hurt God again and again and again. But God chooses to define our relationship with God not through the mistakes we’ve made and the hurts we’ve caused but through the lessons we’ve learned and the corrections we’ve made.
The trick is being humble enough, honest enough and brave enough to admit our mistakes, learn from them and move on. It’s the stuff of Lent my friends---taking an inventory and making adjustments.
The three major players in today’s Gospel, the hurt but always ready to forgive parent, the stalwart, angry older brother and the lost younger son represent each and every one of us at various times in our lives: sometimes we’re the one whose been hurt, other times we’re the one who is angry and still other times we’re the one who’s lost.
Regardless of which role we’re playing today, regardless of whose journey resonates with us the most, we will, at one time or another find ourselves, hurt, angry or lost and in need of reconciliation. But the good news is that each and every time we admit our mistakes, each and every time we learn from them and move on, each and every time we make things right, our loving and gracious God, just like the loving and gracious parent in today’s parable, looks around and says to all in ear shot, “look she once was lost and now she’s found.” “Look, I never gave up hope, I never doubted her true intentions, I have prayed and prayed that this lost sheep, this lost child, this misguided soul would return to the home of my always

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outstretched, always, accepting, always thrilled to see you arms of eternal, abundant, amazing and outlandish LOVE.
This is the stuff of love, it is the stuff of faith, it is the stuff of our loving, life giving and liberating God. And for that we all can say, “Amen!”

Our mistakes define us only when we wallow in them Lent 3C St Patrick's

So…how are those Lenten Disciplines going?
When I was a parish priest, it was just about this point of Lent when parishioners would sidle up to me confessing that they’d faltered in their Lenten discipline. They were discouraged, ashamed and feeling like a failure.
It’s easy to feel that way when we haven’t reached a goal we were so committed to.
In the book, Flunking Sainthood the author, Jana Reiss speaks to this very issue. The premise of Flunking Sainthood is pretty simple: God’s grace, and our receiving of it, comes in many different forms and our job, as people who long for that grace, is to find the method of “reception” that best works for us. Not what works best for your neighbor, not what works best for your spouse, or your parents or your fellow parishioners…what works best for YOU.
Because while we’re all very similar, we’re also quite different. Since the beginning of time humans have been seeking, searching, longing to engage with, be touched by, The Divine. We search for meaning; we long for protection, we hope for the Grace of God to pour over us and all those whom we love.
But we’re also different, so vastly and wonderfully different in how we search, in how we long and in how we hope.
Where we run into trouble is forgetting that God LOVES our differences and willingly—longingly---reaches out to us in these varied ways, relishing in the truth that what you find sacred I may find silly and what I find sacred you may find absurd.
I think it’s just human nature that we really want our way of prayer, of worship, of being receptive to God’s Spirit,  to be THE way and we spend a lot of energy trying to PROVE that another way, a different way is the wrong way.
Because if your way is the wrong way then my way must be the right way.
PHEW. It’s all very competitive. And exhausting. And frustrating.
 And for God?  Exasperating!
     Speaking of exasperating—listen to the folks in today’s Gospel. “Jesus, did you hear what Pilate did? Jeeeeeeesus did you hear…Those Galilleans …how bad was their sin, how much did they mess up? C’mon Jesus, SPILL---how BAD WERE THEY?” They want Jesus to tell them that they’re better, that they’re right, that they’re not flunking sainthood, that, instead they’re excelling at sainthood.
      Of course, Jesus doesn’t do that at all. In fact Jesus puts them in their place…and in turn, of course, he puts us in our place too.
    Jesus says ---it isn’t the sinning that gets us into trouble, it’s what we do about the sinning that gets us into trouble. Sinning—making a mistake, moving farther away from God—is unfortunate. None of us really want to do it but we all do…not because we’re bad, but because mistakes are simply a part of the human condition…. we all sin and Jesus is saying: “listen folks, YOU’RE ALL SINNERS. Get over yourselves. Instead of being so concerned with your neighbor’s mistakes, why don’t you spend some time with your own—come to terms with them, accept that they’ve been made and set out to learn from them! Repent, and move on.”
     Jesus is telling us to engage in reflection and amendment of life. To take stock of all that we’ve done and all we’ve left undone and make a decision to learn from our mistakes, get up and try again. To, like that fig tree we heard about at the end of the Gospel, loosen up our soil and try this fruit-bearing thing one more time.
      By reading today’s Gospel at face value only, one might presume that God is in the judging and punishing business. But I think, delving a little deeper, it becomes clear that God is, instead, in the witnessing and urging business.
       God is always present, God sees what we do, God knows our intent, God witnesses the result. When we miss the mark, when we move away from instead of toward God, God has one hope—that we realize our misstep and, in the words of the church, Repent.
       Repenting is realizing a mistake. Repenting is admitting that mistake. Repenting is learning from that mistake and moving on. Our mistakes define us only when we wallow in them, when we’re paralyzed by them.
                  Our mistakes won’t define us as long as we learn from them and move on.
     So back to this idea of Flunking Sainthood; in the book Jana, in her effort to find the perfect spiritual practice to bring her closer to God, the perfect practice to make her an excellent Christian, makes a ton of mistakes. And for a good portion of the book she allows those mistakes to define her…but, in the end…she realizes that the mistakes aren’t the end of the journey, they are simply part of the journey.
          The journey is what matters. All of us are on a journey that begins and ends in God.
Each of our readings this morning reflects this journey of longing, deep in our souls, for God. A yearning expressed by the psalmist as a “thirst for God.” A thirst for God that at times causes us to feel so parched we fear never having that thirst quenched. But, as Paul reminds us in his letter to the church in Corinth, God is faithful. God will never let us die of that thirst, for God is always with us on this journey, offering the refreshing, life-giving cup of eternal salvation. All we need to do is take it, in whatever way works for us, and drink.
Amen.

We can be afraid of the dark, but we cannot let that fear rule our life. Lent 2C Grace Lockport 17 March 2019

+In this morning’s readings, Abram (soon to be renamed Abraham) had a vision. It begins with God telling Abram to “not be afraid,” which is followed by a lengthy conversation after which Abram falls asleep and a “deep and terrifying darkness” descends upon him. When he awakens, God makes a covenant with him about the promised land.
While all of this is good fodder for a sermon, what I want to focus on this morning  is fear and darkness.
 After all, it’s Lent, right?
When I was a kid I was terrified of the dark. My mom would leave the closet light on so a little bit of light would shine into the room. In the days following Pete’s death, nightfall was extremely difficult for me, so the phrase, a “deep and terrifying darkness” speaks to me. In my lifetime of discomfort with the dark has come a desire to confront the darkness—both mine personally and that of our faith.
Yes, there is darkness in our faith---it’s called Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday---very dark days. Holy Saturday—what my dad used to call Easter Even---fascinates me. I am strangely drawn to the day when our faith is shrouded in total darkness. When we’re stuck in what can feel like an unbearable absence. Jesus’ body lies shrouded in the tomb. Lifeless...there’s no celebration of Eucharist on this day... it is a quiet, empty, sad day.
This is important because we must experience the absence of our Lord to fully embrace his stunning presence on Easter morning. We must consider life without our Lord in order to embrace him every other day.
So what does this have to do with our readings? Lots.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus cries, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it.” In this excerpt of Luke’s Gospel Jesus is predicting his death…throughout the remaining weeks of Lent we hear stories of Jesus’ steady descent into the darkness that is Jerusalem…as he and his friends move ever closer to the city, the anxiety of the ruling class—both King Herod, and the high priests of the temple----increase, worried that this gospel Jesus is preaching  puts their way of life (where they are in charge and everyone else does what they tell them to do) at great risk. As the anxiety of those committed to resist change at all costs rises, the threats against Jesus become more intense and the lamenting of Jesus about what appears to be coming, grows.
The final line of today’s Gospel is a foreshadowing of Palm Sunday----"Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord” is shouted by the followers of Jesus upon his triumphant entry into Jerusalem on the Sunday that begins Holy week. The same voices that shout “Blessed is the one” will shout, a mere five days later, “CRUCIFY HIM.”
On some level Jesus knows this. He suspects that all those who are professing their love for him will turn on him, leaving him hanging in humiliation with only his mother, Mary Magdalene, John and a handful of other women there to witness his death.
On some level he knows this---he feels this---hence his lament over Jerusalem.
And over us. Look around the world…we are Jerusalem. We have become intolerant and afraid. We have let the darkness win.
We are Jerusalem and Jesus is crying for us. He’s crying over a world where intolerance is out of control, where hate seems to have the upper hand, where 50 people worshipping the God of Abraham in their mosque are crucified by bullets of hate.
Jesus cries over us and what has happened to us.
     Folks, darkness has the upperhand and the only way to defeat it, the only way to have it NOT rule our lives is to descend into it, just like Abram did in his dream, just like Jesus did on Holy Saturday for only by confronting it do we discover that the darkness is beatable. That we can, that we must, that God willing we will defeat this darkness by understanding that if we hand it to Jesus, if we leave it on this very altar, light will win, life will win, love will win.
My friends, we can be afraid of the dark, but we cannot let that fear rule our life.
    As the body of our Lord lay in the tomb on Holy Saturday, He, Jesus of Nazareth descended into death and lifted all souls, every last one of them into the joys of heaven, giving us the perfect antidote to darkness: eternal light, eternal life, eternal love.
 Be not afraid, dear people of God, the hold of darkness is not permanent. The lament of Jesus is not the last word.
Turning over darkness reveals the light.
Turning over fear reveals the love.
Turning over the absence of Holy Saturday brings the joy of Jesus’ presence on Easter morn.
Darkness is not to be avoided, it is to be faced.
Darkness is not to be feared, it is to be challenged.
Darkness will not win, if we, the people of light refuse to give into it.
For all of us struggling with darkness, be not afraid, for light is always just on the other side of the dark. Guaranteed.
Amen.

The work of Lent is opening up space for God to come in Lent 1C

+On Ash Wednesday I preached about delving into our brokenness this Lent, about rending our hearts of all darkness, despair and distrust—to make room for God.              The core of our Lenten journey is to do whatever we can to LET GOD IN. It’s about entering into an active and trusting relationship with God. Of choosing to move toward God all day, every day.
      You see, our life is on a continuum...every decision we make, every action we take moves us along this continuum. At one end is God, at the other end is what some people might call the devil, others might call darkness, still others call evil and what I call “Not God.”  What we do—all day, every day--- either moves us closer to or farther away from God.
     Are you moving toward God or away? Are your choices fueled by light and grace or by darkness and despair? Do you trust God? I mean really trust God?
        In today’s Gospel Jesus trusted God. And boy, did that tick off the forces of darkness, the evil one, the Not God in our world.
    Today’s Gospel gives us a glimpse into one of the most epic battle of wits of all time. The devil challenges Jesus at every turn, and at every turn, Jesus has the perfect response.
      Now remember, at the time of this morning’s gospel, Jesus has just been baptized and anointed as “God’s beloved” when he’s thrust into these 40 days of blistering heat, endless hunger, heart wrenching loneliness and 40 nights of bitter cold, desperate sleeplessness, and terrifying visions. The Devil is throwing everything but the kitchen sink at our Lord but because Jesus refuses to shut God out, because Jesus trusts in God no matter what; the temptations of the darkness, the evil forces of this world, the pull of Jesus’ humanity don’t win. In today’s Gospel, light defeats dark, hope overwhelms despair, Love beats hate and the march of God’s goodness continues on its way.
        Today’s Gospel gives us hope; hope that as we begin our Lenten journey, the steady drumbeat of the light of Christ given to us at Christmas and Epiphany will fuel us.
And that’s good news because to really do up Lent right, we need that light. For it’s the light of Christ that shines in all the dark corners of our lives.
You know those parts of us that we hide from, those things we’ve left undone, or those things we’ve done that we wish we could undo.
       The work of Lent is opening up space for God to come in and help us with the spring cleaning of our souls. In Lent we change the rhythm of our lives… not just so we can say that we successfully avoided chocolate or red meat or swearing or smoking for these 40 days, no we change the rhythm of our lives so that we notice when God slips in and shows up in the most unexpected places.
     But this is where it can get a little tricky… because changing the rhythm of our lives makes us vulnerable. And being vulnerable is a frightening prospect---look at how vulnerable Jesus was during those 40 days in the wilderness.
He had two choices as the devil led him around: stay in fear and trepidation, holding on for dear life, or move into trust and faith, letting Go and letting God.
      You know what? We are faced with this same choice each and every day….we can give into darkness or we can trust the light. We can hold on to our fear or we can let Go and let God. We can move toward God or we can move away from God.
My friends, you, as a community of faith, have a great deal to ponder this Lent. What is God calling the community of Grace to do? Where is God calling each of you individually and all of you collectively? These may not be new questions, but the level of urgency has increased. Over the years you’ve had frustration, anger and fear. You’ve also experienced hope and dreams, excitement and energy.
    And now, today, you find yourselves at a real crossroads.
Lent has come just in time, because Lent –as so clearly shown in our Gospel reading this morning--is about turning our hungers, fears, doubts and worry over to God. A “well-done” Lent means learning how to trust that God is always the one we can turn too, that God is always the one who can feed us like no one or no thing else. May each and everyone of you, engage in a rigorous Lent, refusing to give into fear, doubt and anger. May each and every one of you learn from Jesus in the wilderness, saying good-bye to the darkness and hello to the light.
     May this Lent teach us all that by experiencing some dark nights of Not God we will muster the courage and the trust to move fully and wholly into the bright days of Only God.
Amen+
   

The Brokenness of Our Dust Ash Wednesday 2019

The blessing of Ash Wednesday, the blessing of Lent is found in our brokenness. Lent is a time for us to encounter ourselves---where we have fallen short, where we have let pride rule, where we have shut out, pushed away, buried, ignored, or rejected the whispers (and sometimes the shouts) of the Holy Spirit. Lent is a time to encounter the truth of our lives and work on pressing the “reset” button.

To do it well is to feel some discomfort, maybe even outright pain as we look in a mirror honesty. How have I failed to be the face of Jesus to the world around me? How have I failed to give the benefit of the doubt, how have I rushed to judgement, been quick with a harsh and heartless remark. How have I neglected my own self—how often have I worked too much and relaxed too little? How often have I said yes because I’m afraid to say no? How often have I pleased everyone around me except for me.

The blessing of Ash Wednesday and the blessing of Lent is to rend our very selves down to the marrow. Looking at who it is we have been and recalibrate ourselves to be who it is God created us to be?

Trust me, this work of rendering, this work of being brutally honest about ourselves, to our ourselves will be a blessing. For all the stuff we have done and all of the stuff we have left undone weighs us down, distracts us, derails us. By engaging in a rigorous and thorough Lent we will find ourselves, lightened, brightened and fresh, just like the daffodils of spring. So my friends, I leave you this Holy Night with a blessing poem for Ash Wednesday, written by the author and theologian, Jan Richardson:

Rend Your Heart: An Ash Wednesday Blessing Jan Richardson
To receive this blessing,
all you have to do
is let your heart break.
Let it crack open.
Let it fall apart
so that you can see
its secret chambers,
the hidden spaces
where you have hesitated
to go.

Your entire life
is here, inscribed whole
upon your heart’s walls:
every path taken
or left behind,
every face you turned toward
or turned away,
every word spoken in love
or in rage,
every line of your life
you would prefer to leave
in shadow,
every story that shimmers
with treasures known
and those you have yet
to find.

It could take you days
to wander these rooms.
Forty, at least.
And so let this be
a season for wandering
for trusting the breaking
for tracing the tear
that will return you
to the One who waits
who watches
who works within
the rending
to make your heart
whole.

May God bless the brokenness of our dust. May God bless our rending, our emptying and then our receiving. Amen. 

Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia, Transfiguration Strengthens Us for What’s to Come. Last Epiphany St Peter’s, NF March 3, 2019

+Have you ever been transfigured-- been so affected by an experience that your actual appearance—how you look… how you carry yourself…. changes?
It can be negative—when something horrible happens and the wind’s taken out of your sails....or positive—you’re in love, you’ve gotten your life back on track after some rough spots. Something about how you appear, how you present yourself changes…and it shows!
But sometimes the causes of these transformations, these transfigurations aren’t as easily explained. They’re more mysterious, less concrete.
These experiences of the Divine, these experiences of the sacred are sometimes called “Thin Places.”
Thin Places are those moments when we feel especially close to God. When we feel —simultaneously—really small--miniscule in the whole of the universe--- yet  also larger than life, one with God, one with all of Creation.
Maybe they occur when witnessing a gorgeous sunset, or maybe after the birth of a child. But they can also happen in the midst of an ordinary day—driving the car, washing the dishes, checking Facebook. But we can’t make them happen—they just happen when we least expect it—-when the guard of our humanity is down long enough for the fullness of the divine to breakthrough.
      I think that the Transfiguration—what happened to Jesus on that mountaintop in today’s gospel--- was a “Thin Place experience” for James, John and Peter. I believe that what happened was “transfigurative” for Jesus, transformative for his friends and sacred for us all.
       As we prepare for the beginning of Lent on Wednesday, we’ve fast forwarded a bit. Moving from the early part of Jesus’ ministry, to the latter part when, once and for all, he turns his followers toward Jerusalem where everything will come to a head and Jesus will need friends with him. He needs his friends to get it. He needs them to prepare. He needs them ready for the increased scrutiny, for the arrest, for the torture, for his death. Not only do they need to be ready for it all to happen, they have to be ready to feel all the emotions connected to it---They need to feel it, for only in feeling it---really feeling it---will they be open to the ultimate Thin Place: the glory, wonder and awe of Resurrection.
And, as usual,  they aren’t getting it.
Maybe they don’t want to, maybe they simply can’t. So Jesus takes them up the mountain to pray. In his wisdom Jesus knew James, John and Peter needed to get away. They needed to lessen the distractions of their everyday life to get quiet enough, open enough and hopefully willing enough to let God break through. By going up the mountain, they get away, they retreat, they tune out the noise of the world.
And it’s then and only then, with the noise quieted, that this “thing” happens, this transfiguration. Jesus’ appearance, his countenance changes. At that transfiguring moment, God’s glory could no longer be contained within the person of  Jesus…it burst forth, all over that mountaintop, all over James, John and Peter, and all over us.
Folks, sometimes, God’s glory just can’t be contained. Sometimes it overflows, overwhelming our senses.
That’s what happens in Thin places: we’re overwhelmed by God’s Glory. In Thin Places, God’s Glory can no longer be contained.
Gabriel’s annunciation to Mary was a Thin Place, as was Christmas morning, Jesus’ baptism, and the Presentation of Jesus in the temple. Each of these moments were times when, in the course of a routine action---Mary going about the household duties of a young Galilean woman, the birth of a baby to a poor traveling couple, the baptism of a follower of John, the fulfilling of Jewish purity laws by a devout Jewish couple, and the quick trip up a mountain for some retreat time with friends----in the course of these ordinary events, God’s radiance bursts through, our efforts to follow business as usual fails, and we’re overwhelmed with what is pure and holy and sacred.
The truth is, our humanity can’t manage a steady diet of this radiance. Therefore, moments of the Holy, Thin Place experiences are usually fleeting. Not because God retreats, but, because we do. The power of God’s presence is so overwhelming, we reach back into the familiar—the noise of daily life--to ground ourselves in the routine, the ordinary and unchallenging ebb and flow of our days.
This is why we read the story of the Transfiguration right before Lent. On Wednesday we embark on a stripping down, a quieting, a simplifying of our daily life. In Lent we prepare ourselves for an encounter with the Divine and this story-- this account of a Thin Place experience-- plants something within us. Something that, as we settle into the barrenness of Lent, marinates, stirs, and grows so that, like James, John and Peter, when we walk that walk to Calvary, when we weep with Mary at the foot of the cross, when we linger in the seeming finality of death on Holy Saturday we are strengthened to feel the intensity of loss-- to realize what life is like without the light and love of God as given to us in Jesus. So that, just when the rigors of Lent, the nakedness of the desert, and the restriction of discipline becomes too much, when our senses long for stimulation, we will stumble upon the empty tomb and find ourselves—once again—overwhelmed…not by the rigors of daily life, but rather by the radiance of the Risen One who through his Resurrection gives us the glory and the wonder of Life Eternal. My friends, my Lenten wish for us is that we become open enough, willing enough,  receptive enough to be transfigured by and through this Jesus, the one who simply longs for us to walk with him. Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia and Amen!